Yscha had not forgotten about Costello.

Through her travels and her hardships, the greying mare had not lost the memories of her adopted daughter. Costello, despite being a quiet girl (due to her inability to speak), still managed to worm her way into Yscha's naïve heart and find a special place there. Although she had been young and inexperienced as a mother, when she found the bay filly there with her twin brother, lying by Avasha's corpse, she knew she couldn't just leave them there to share their mother's fate. Costello had seemed to take quite a liking to her, whereas Abbott hadn't been as willing to stick himself to Yscha's side, and instead had found another mare he preferred to call his adoptive mother. Not that Yscha minded, of course - three children was a bit too much for her to handle, especially as a first time mother.

Now, after - goodness, how long had it been? She didn't even know anymore - Costello was bound to have grown up somewhat, aged and begun maturing into the fine mare Yshca knew she would one day be. Although, with her return, her heart ached to see her adopted daughter again, the dappled mare knew that was not likely. Why would she still be roaming the Forest? Surely a young girl like herself would be eager to see the world, to get out there and do something and be someone. Then again, maybe not. This notion was quickly dismissed when Costello's oh so familiar scent swirled itself around Yscha's head as she grazed amongst the trees, picking at the grasses that managed to peek between the blanket of leaves.

Lifting her head, she turns her face towards the source of the smell, watching as the bay filly emerges from the trees and makes her way over to the king, ears lost in her thick ebony mane. Worry seizes at Yscha as Costello picks up her pace, acting as if she may have a plan to attack the red dun. Though, with suddenness, her demeanor changes, and instead she practically falls into him, sobbing mutedly into his shoulder. She approaches the pair, a frown tainting her pretty face as she realizes something is wrong. She hurries her pace, dark eyes agleam with concern as Costello silently weeps into his shoulder. "What's wrong?" Slowly, as not to frighten the girl, she steps forward, pressing her whiskered nose against Costello's shoulder. What could have possibly been done to upset this poor child, she wondered, anger bubbling somewhere deep within her.